"What could that be?" said their mother.
Polly hesitated, and looked at her little sister.
"Come, Bess, out with it," exclaimed Matthew. "Let us hear this wonderful secret."
"It is no secret, father," replied the child. "Polly and me only wanted to ask her about the wolf."
"The wolf again," exclaimed Matthew, much amused. "It was Bess who began it this time, mother. Well, and what did she say?"
"I can't remember all, father," answered the child, gravely, "and I don't think I want to—only that it was something like a dog, with grey hair, and large teeth, and a terrible voice."
"Grey hair," repeated her father. "I suppose by that it must have been an old wolf she was describing."
"I don't know that," said Polly reflectively, "for she told us afterwards that in cold countries the hair was white."
"Quite venerable, I declare," continued Matthew; "the cold in all probability causing them to live to a good old age."
"You would not have laughed, father, if you had heard all that Miss Mahoney said," observed Polly, earnestly.